


Just a Taste

by BananaStickers



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Everyone's Bisexual, IIHF Ice Hockey World Championships, Jack is Shameless, M/M, No Underage Sex, Older Man/Younger Man, a little rough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-27 15:06:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19015363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaStickers/pseuds/BananaStickers
Summary: Ryan’s on a pretty strict diet; at 34-years-old, you have to watch your macros closely to keep playing at a high level.But everyone deserves a cheat day once in awhile.  And nothing tastes sweeter than Jack.





	Just a Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to [sheesusnat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheesusnat/pseuds/sheesusnat) for the beta. I appreciate the ability to just dump a surprise 10k fic I wrote in a weekend on your lap and tell you to fix it and then you do!!
> 
> I never expected to be writing Jack Hughes / Ryan Suter, but then I saw [these](https://66.media.tumblr.com/fa9c9582f6bd40732d970258b48de3b9/tumblr_prxe5zaZtB1uoixvho1_540.gif) two [gifs](https://66.media.tumblr.com/4b1958097e412138ddcdf422663b3bcc/tumblr_prxe5zaZtB1uoixvho2_540.gif) and well, here we are.
> 
> There is absolutely no sex while Jack is underage, but some flirting (almost exclusively coming from Jack, not Ryan) and a few dirty thoughts on Ryan's part, while Jack is 17.

Ryan Suter’s got his head down, carefully tying his skates, with Cory Schneider on one side talking his ear off and Johnny Gaudreau on the other teaching DeBrincat some sort of weird celebratory dance “they’re definitely gonna do this tourney”. Which is to say, it’s busy in the locker room on the first day of Worlds, getting ready for team USA’s introductory practice. That’s Ryan’s excuse for why he hasn’t really met any of the new guys yet.

There’s a lot of them, he realizes, as they step onto the ice and Ryan takes his first lap around the rink. There are a lot of guys he’s never met before, and a few he barely even recognizes. Ryan’s competed for the United States plenty - eleven times, if you can believe it - but it’s been ten years since he’s been at the Worlds and three since he got invited to the World Cup. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get another crack at competing for his country, but here he is with a swath of young, fresh faces.

Jack stands out immediately, recognizable even though they’ve never met: his face has been plastered on all the draft boards, not to mention a standout star at World Juniors. The first time Ryan sees him he wonders about Jack’s injury. Jack is wearing a cage, which means there’s something wrong with his face. Broken jaw or something like it.

But then the kid smiles, and he certainly doesn’t have a broken jaw, and Ryan remembers:

Jack Hughes is still 17, and 17 year olds are required to wear cages. Injury or not.

 _God,_ that makes him feel old.

He gets properly introduced after practice, as they’re all gathering to review the coach’s systems in a video session. There’s two Hughes’ here, Quinn and Jack, and Ryan greets them both with a friendly handshake. Ryan spares a moment of pity for Quinn, because Jack seems to have gotten the lion’s share of both hockey talent _and_ looks. But Quinn’s going pro too, and Ryan knows if an ugly motherfucker like himself can land tail pretty much whenever he wants, Quinn will be just fine.

They go a little harder in the second day of practice. As with any international competition, there’s barely any ramp up time, so while they’re not trying to kill each other in practice, there’s enough physical contact that the occasional argument breaks out amongst guys who have been enemies for months now in the NHL. They’re doing some work against the boards in one drill, and Ryan doesn’t mean to, but he nails Jack a little harder than he wanted. He can feel the boards give as their bodies smash against them, and then Jack tumbles to the ice, Ryan trying his best not to crush him but ending up on top of him in a tangle of limbs.

Jack is laughing, Ryan can feel his shoulders shake underneath him, so that’s a good sign at least. “Sorry bud,” he says - right in Jack’s ear, as it turns out - and pushes up off him, offers a hand down to help him up.

“No worries,” Jack says, and there’s a gleam in his eye now. Ryan doesn’t give it another thought, just figures that Jack is happy to be here, teenage exuberance not dulling even when he’s getting accidentally destroyed by his own teammates.

But then Jack seems to _goad_ him the rest of practice. Deliberately bumping into him when they go and grab a drink, lifting his stick whenever he comes near, even whacking him in the back of the head when they go into the corner for a drill. It almost seems playful, but then again, Ryan doesn’t know Jack at all. Maybe he’s pissed. He figures he’ll seek Jack out during video, clear the air, make sure everything’s cool between them.

Turns out he doesn’t have to seek out anyone. Jack plops right down in the seat next to him, shoving his elbow right into Ryan’s space. “Hey,” he says, smirking up at Ryan.

“Uh, hi,” Ryan says, and the elbow in his side digs just a little further in. “Um, so I just wanna make sure we’re cool? I really didn’t mean to hit you that hard - “

“Why not?”

Ryan blinks. That was not the answer he was expecting. “Well, it’s just practice, man. Don’t wanna see anyone injured.”

Jack shrugs, leans a little closer. “I can take it,” he says. “Next time you can give it to me harder. I won’t mind.”

“Ummm.” It’s a weird thing to say, but Ryan is rescued by Adam, the video coordinator, coming in to set the tape up, hushing the noise in the room. They sit quietly throughout the video session, Jack radiating body heat next him. He’s so close that Ryan can smell his shampoo, different from the stuff the rink provides - he must have brought his own - and a peppery smell that has to be his cologne. He smells good. Ryan tries not to think about it.

Jack asks a few questions during the session. They’re smart questions, thoughtful, indicative of a high level of hockey knowledge, and Ryan can’t help but be impressed. He’s still not entirely sure that Jack isn’t angry at him, so when the coach calls the end of the session, he turns to Jack with the intention of complimenting him. A little sweetener never hurt anyone, he figures.

But Jack’s already looking at him. “Have you tried these Corny Big candy bars they have here?” he asks.

The question is so far out of left field that Ryan can only stare at him. “Huh?”

“It’s like, a local candy bar. Bro it’s _so_ good. You gotta get one. You should bring me one too.”

Is this Jack subtly asking for Ryan to apologize to him over that hit? If a candy bar is what it will take, well, Ryan can do that. “Uh, okay.”

Jack beams. “Awesome, I’ve been really craving one,” he says, and then he’s gone, leaving Ryan to stare at Gaudreau shamelessly flirting with Patrick Kane, who is being - Ryan’s pretty sure - deliberately obtuse to the entire thing.

Patrick, as Ryan found out years ago, likes being _chased._ He enjoys being pursued, because he’s a little drama queen, although Ryan would never say that to his face.

Ryan hasn’t been to Worlds in three years, but some things never change. The entire event is nothing but hookup culture, taking the chance to fuck guys you’ll probably never play with again, making sex bets against opposing teams. That’s what happens when you put hundreds of horny pro athletes in the same few hotels just across the street from each other.

Even when he was younger, Ryan was never a _prize_ , he knows that. Hell, he’s had enough guys call him ugly right to his face - usually in the heat of a hockey match, anything to chirp your opponent - but still, they’re not entirely wrong. Nevertheless, he always used to do okay for himself. But now he’s ugly _and_ old. Not the most winning combination.

He’s not going to do something like debase himself to try and chase Patty Kane, though, and he’s already had a brief fling that ended a little ugly with van Riemsdyk at the 2016 World Cup, and he can’t think of a single other guy on the roster that might be interested in him. But whatever...if it happens, it happens. Maybe he’ll test the local Slovak market. Or maybe he’ll just enjoy what might be his last international competition. It’s less than a month, he’s pretty sure he’ll be just fine without sex in that time frame.

It’s not like he’s 18 anymore.

~~~~~

The candy bar is easy to find, right down the street at the corner store. It’s some kind of crispy rice in chocolate, like a Crunch bar on steroids. Ryan only buys one of them, no matter how much he wants to try it, because he’s got a pretty strict diet to adhere to. He figures he can eat junk food when he’s retired. You don’t make it to age 34 in the NHL by blowing off your macros.

Practice the next day goes well. He’s getting more comfortable with the system, and he _feels_ good, still feels like he can contribute and keep up even with all the young legs on the team, though he does need to take longer breaks than most of them seem to need. Being an important part of an international competition at his age isn’t something to take lightly, so he takes a moment to bask a little as he leans against the boards, spraying water into his mouth.

There’s suddenly a presence behind him, someone’s hips nestled right against the curve of his ass. If this were five years ago he’d be pretty sure someone is making an innuendo about what they want be doing with him later, but Ryan glances behind him to see Jack’s smirk, so he doesn’t think that’s what it is at all. “You get me that Corny Big?” Jack asks.

“I did,” Ryan tells him. “In my bag. I’ll give it to you after practice.”

“Mmm, I hope you will,” Jack purrs in his ear, and then he’s gone, leaving Ryan to blink at the empty space he just occupied. Was that - ? Did he just…?

No. _No way,_ Jack’s 17 and Ryan is - well, a lot fucking older, and he’s definitely reading things the wrong way. Kids these days, he thinks.

Jack’s in his locker when he gets off the ice, mostly naked, stripped down to just his jock and socks. He’s lounging there like he owns it, and he grins lazily when he sees Ryan approaching. “I’m ready for it,” he says. “Gimme.”

“You’ve got no patience at all,” he teases gently, and Jack laughs.

“Hell no,” he says. “I just know what I want. And I pretty much always get it.”

He can feel Jack’s eyes on him as he digs through his bag, comes up with the brightly-wrapped treat, and hands it over. Jack immediately digs into it, ripping the wrapping off and jamming it into his mouth, taking a big bite. “Oh _god,”_ he moans, tipping his head back against Ryan’s locker, exposing the long, pale column of this throat.

“Is it, uh...good?”

“It’s so good,” he says, looking up at Ryan through his long lashes. “You didn’t get one for yourself?”

Ryan shrugs. “At my age, this whole hockey thing is 24-7, 365,” he says. “In a couple years I’ll be able to eat all the candy bars I want after I retire. Right now I still gotta watch it.”

“You don’t allow yourself any treats? None at all?”

The way Jack says it is...if Ryan didn’t know better, he’d say it was some kind of innuendo. He shakes his head. “Not really.”

“One little bite,” Jack says, ripping off a corner of the candy bar and standing up, holding it out. “Try it.”

Ryan tries taking the piece, but Jack snatches his hand back. “Open your mouth,” he grins.

“Really?”

“C’mon,” Jack says, and Ryan doesn’t want to make a scene in the locker room, so he bends his knees a little - he’s got a few inches on Jack - and opens his mouth.

Jack gingerly puts the piece on Ryan’s tongue, and then he scrapes his finger along Ryan’s bottom teeth and down his lip as he pulls his hand back. There’s a weird lump forming in Ryan’s throat at the touch, one he tries desperately to not think about as he chews the candy. It’s pretty good, actually. The candy, not - not Jack.

“Isn’t it good?” Jack asks, stuffing the rest of the bar in his mouth.

“Yeah, not too bad.”

“Live it up a little, Ry,” Jack seems, gently bumping into him as he nudges past. He turns to retort that hey, nobody calls him _Ry,_ but Jack’s already at his locker, bent over, and all Ryan sees is tight Spandex and he turns around fast, face heating up a little. The last thing he wants is to be caught checking out the fucking _underage kid,_ especially with his brother in the room. What’s wrong with him? Shit, maybe he does need to get laid.

~~~~~

Ryan finds a cute little Slovakian lady that night at the local bar and takes her back to his hotel room, which is empty because he asked his roommate - Clayton Keller - to pretty please vacate the premises. He’s _fairly_ positive Clayton has been spending his evenings being the filling in a Jack Eichel-Noah Hanifin sandwich anyway, based off the shit he’s heard whispered in the locker room. Apparently Eichs and Hanny are crazy into each other and planning on vacationing together after Worlds and doing all sorts of proper boyfriend shit. That’s a weird fucking couple right there, in Ryan’s eyes, but if it means that he gets a room to himself most nights because they want to bang Clayton together, he’s not going to complain.

Her name is Lida. She knows limited English, and Ryan doesn’t know a damn word of Slovakian, but sex is a pretty universal language. Lida seems to have a good time. At least, Ryan hopes she did; she leaves with a smile on her face anyway.

They have a pre-tournament game against Germany which goes well. It’s a 5-2 win, and Ryan thinks he holds down the fort pretty well on the blueline. After the game, as the benches empty to hug Cory, Jack finds him and practically jumps into his arms for a hug. “You see my assist?!” he asks, face pressed to Ryan’s shoulder.

It was hard to miss, a sweet little apple from behind the net. “Hell yeah I did,” Ryan says, patting him on the helmet.

“It was awesome, wasn’t it?”

From anyone else that might sound cocky as hell, but Jack just seems like he wants a little validation. Maybe being the youngest in the whole tournament has made him self-conscious. “You’re a big fucking asset to this team,” Ryan says to make him feel better, and Jack beams up at him.

“Thanks Ry,” he says, and Ryan thinks he really needs to cut off that nickname before it becomes a thing, but then Jack _winks_ at him and makes a beeline for Cory to hug him, too. As long as nobody else uses it, he thinks, maybe it’s okay.

~~~~~

They lose their first official game to host country Slovakia, 4-1, and neither Ryan nor Jack are happy about it. Ryan was on the ice for _three_ goals. Jack missed a grade-A scoring opportunity that would have brought the game within one. From across the room Ryan can see the scowl on Jack’s face and knows it’s mirrored on his own.

“Kaner, we should party in our room tonight,” DeBrincat tells Patty. “Like, the whole team. I don’t wanna go out to some local bar and listen to them talk shit.”

“They usually don’t,” Chris Kreider points out, mildly. “Most of the time people don’t wanna fuck with a big group of hockey players. Also, do you speak Slovak?”

“That’s not the _point_ Kreids,” Alex sighs. “I’m just saying it’s a _possibility_ and I think we need to stay in and have some USA-only bonding. Besides, Jack can’t drink with us yet if we go to a bar.”

“Four more days,” he says with a smile, earning him some hoots and gentle teasing from the crowd. Patrick sighs good-naturedly.

“You fucks better bring the booze then,” he says. “If I’m hosting, I ain’t buyin’ shit.”

Suddenly, it’s a plan, and that’s just fine by Ryan. He’ll make an appearance in Kaner’s room, and then excuse himself to go read a book and have a quiet night. He can feel his muscles aching, the pain coming on quicker and deeper as his body has accumulated little tweaks and injuries from the grind of the NHL season. Trudging to the trainer’s area, he settles in for a quick ice bath. They don’t have the fancy cryo chambers here like they do in the NHL, and Ryan hasn’t taken an actual ice bath in awhile, and he forgot how much it sucks.

Kreider settles into a tub next to him, making unhappy noises the whole time. “Fucking shit,” he says. “Cold air feels way easier than cold water, eh? Hey, you wanna go booze shopping with me after this? There’s this traditional Slovakian liquor called Slivovica I really want to try, plus this brandy I can’t remember the name of. I’ll probably need an extra set of hands.”

Ryan laughs as Chris makes a particularly ugly face as he shifts in the frigid water. “How much liquor you plan on getting, Kreids? Jesus.”

“You know these drunk assholes. I’m just trying to be prepared.”

“Alright, I’m in.” Ryan doesn’t have anything better to do, and he likes Kreids, so why not.

As they get closer to the store that Kreids picked out to buy the booze, Ryan realizes it’s the same place that he bought Jack’s chocolate at. Chris beelines for the back of the place, which is wall-to-wall liquor, while Ryan lingers for a moment at the candy. Besides the Corny Big, there’s this bar called Banany which caught his eye when he was in here last. It’s some kind of banana and chocolate, which sounds weird but Ryan thinks it might be awesome, and he wants to try it, but...diet.

Maybe he can give it to Jack and snag a bite like last time. That’ll probably work, he figures, so he grabs it and heads over to Chris, who dumps a couple bottles in his hands. “Oh shit,” Chris murmurs, bending down to peer at some brightly colored bottles. “These are like, Slovakian wine coolers or something.”

“You like wine coolers, Kreids?”

“Nah.” Chris grins up at him. “But we got some real young’uns in the house, and I’m going to troll them with it. You watch, they’ll pretend to hate it and then get sloppy on ‘em.”

Ryan watches as Chris grabs every colored bottle they have and trucks it up to the register. He doesn’t offhand know the Euro to USD conversion, but the amount sounds awful high. Then again, Ryan’s hands are full to bursting, so maybe that isn’t wrong at all. “This is gonna be awesome,” Chris says cheerfully. “We’re gonna have a great time, drink that shitty game out of our system.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ryan laughs.

~~~~~

Ryan drinks...a little more than he expected at the party that night. That Slovak liquor that Chris wanted to try is _strong,_ and before he knows it he’s a little unsteady on his feet, so he slumps back onto Kaner’s bed and blinks up at the ceiling. He doesn’t drink a ton anymore - _diet,_ right - so maybe he’s just bit more of a lightweight than he remembers.

The team has opened the divider doors between Patrick’s room and the room next door, so it’s not as crowded as it could be, but it’s still jam packed with large men. For most of the night, Ryan had been enjoying some conversation with the older guys like Schneider and Martinez, while the younger group gravitated to the room next door and whooped and danced. Just like Kreids predicted, they laughed off the wine coolers, and then proceeded to pound them down their throats and get silly.

Ryan remembers being that age, but when he got drunk with his teammates they’d play shit like beer pong and truth or dare. Nowadays these kids watch viral videos or whatever and laugh and play music from their phones and dance. _Fuck_ he’s old.

The bed dips next to him, and Ryan lifts his head to see Jack, sitting next to him with a drunk grin. “Ry,” he says, then flops down so his head is tucked against Ryan’s shoulder. “M’soooo drunk.”

“You drank those wine coolers, didn’t you?” Ryan asks, awkwardly patting Jack’s arm.

“Look, they were yummy,” Jack pouts, pressing his hand to Ryan’s hip and then his eyes go wide, and he raises an eyebrow. “You got something in your pocket. Is this _candy?_ I thought you said you didn’t.”

“Oh.” Shit, Ryan forgot about the Banany. He yanks it out of his pocket, turns it over in his hands and shows Jack. “I, uh. I just wanted a taste. I figured I could give it to you and…”

“You bought me more candy.” Jack’s eyes light up, and he licks his lips. “I know what it’s like to want a taste, Ry. Of course you can have some.”

“It’s probably a little melted,” Ryan says, handing it over. “It’s been in my pocket all night.”

Jack takes a quick read of the label - Ryan doesn’t know why, it’s all in Slovak - and then carefully opens it and takes a bite. It’s melty as hell, the chocolate soft and runny, and Jack’s mouth is instantly sticky, shiny with melted chocolate on his lips. “Kinda weird,” he says, mouth full as he chews. “I like it though. Here - “

He disregards the runniness, breaks off a piece for Ryan, holds it up to his mouth. A glance around tells him that nobody’s watching them - he’s slightly drunk, but not too drunk to know what this probably looks like - and quickly eats the piece out of Jack’s hand. The banana and chocolate flavor work shockingly well together.

“Weird, but I like it,” Jack says again, and he stares at Ryan as he lifts his chocolate-smeared fingers to his lips and sucks on them, one at a time, swirling his tongue around each digit.

“What are you doing?” Ryan blurts out before he can help himself, because - maybe it’s the booze, but God, Jack looks like he’s _flirting._

Jack smiles with a lot of teeth. “I’m going to be 18 in four days.”

“Uh huh. And…?”

“Legal, I mean.”

“Yes, that’s generally what 18 means,” Ryan says dryly.

“Well I mean - we’re teammates, at least for right now,” Jack says, splaying a hand on Ryan’s stomach, and _okay_ that’s a lot. He sucks in his stomach at the touch, tries to push Jack’s hand off, but he doesn’t budge. “So it’s only right that you get me a gift.”

“Uh - er - what do you want?”

Jack’s eyes trail from where his hand sits, down and down and down, very deliberately to Ryan’s groin. “I think you can figure it out,” he says, and then he’s off the bed and gone, straight into Cayden Primeau’s arms, giggling with him over something only they know.

It feels suddenly like he can’t breathe in the stuffy room with too many people in it, so he finds Patty, wishes him good night, and heads straight back to his room down the hall. He knows Clayton won’t be there for awhile, or maybe not even at all - he was somehow spread across both Jack _and_ Noah’s laps when Ryan left - so he flops down on his bed and tries to calm his breathing as he stares at the small water stain on the ceiling.

Shit. He’s had a lot of bad ideas, but fucking Jack Hughes ranks pretty high on that list. He’s 17 fucking years old. Ryan is not some pedophile. Ryan has never been into teenagers.

_He turns 18 in four days._

18 is only slightly better than 17, he tells himself. Well, certainly better in the legal sense, but it’s not like Jack will undergo some massive maturation in four days. Ryan is _34._ He’s literally twice Jack’s age. He’s never, ever considered making a move on the young kids that come into training camp every year trying to make the roster. Hell, even the early 20 year olds are like a mystery to him most times. Ryan made an Austin Powers joke the other day and Adam Fox stared at him like he had two heads. They’re another generation, something that’s passed Ryan by, and nobody younger than 28 has looked at him with any kind of interest in probably three years. But that’s just how it goes - you get older, and your partners grow older right alongside you.

But he can still feel Jack’s touch on his stomach, like it’s been burned into his skin, can still feel where each and every one of his fingers had been. He can still see those same fingers disappearing inside Jack’s mouth as he stared at Ryan with the most naked lust he’s seen in - fuck, a long time if he’s admitting it - and it feels good to be wanted. But that’s all it is, he tells himself, just an ego boost that a young guy might want to fuck him.

Ryan also knows the _idea_ of it is probably sexier than the actual thing. Jack thinks he knows what he wants, but teenagers are stupid. They’d get five minutes into it, Ryan’s stamina waning, and Jack would be disappointed. If he just wants a big guy to fuck him, Thatcher Demko is 6’4 and would probably be happy to oblige him.

Maybe he’ll try and set that in motion. Gently nudge Jack in Demko’s direction, and watch the sparks fly, and that’ll be the end of that.

Tomorrow, he figures.

~~~~~

“I think Jack’s into tall guys,” Ryan casually tells Thatcher the next day at practice while they’re gathered around getting water.

“Huh?” Thatcher blinks at him, tilting his head.

“Tall guys. I mean, if you’re interested.”

Thatcher snorts, spraying his face with water. “Pass,” he says. “Jack’s a cool dude. Little too young for me though.”

Great. Thanks-a-fucking-lot, Ryan thinks as Thatcher skates away.

That really makes him feel much better about himself.

~~~~~

They beat France 7-1, and then Finland 3-2 in OT, and Ryan’s feeling pretty good about his performance. Since the awful Slovakian game, he’s been strong on the blueline.

Jack, on the other hand, is clearly frustrated. He keeps getting these fantastic looks, getting in free and clear on the goalie, and then just barely missing. He spends the entirety of practice with a grim and determined look on his face, so different from the carefree smile that he usually wears. Jack still has _fun_ with hockey, Ryan’s realized that early. He hasn’t been worn down yet by the constant grind, the fans and media trying to each get a tiny piece of you whenever they can, the pressure of performing. Only now, it looks like that pressure is starting to crack his happy facade.

Practice ends, and they have free ice for about thirty minutes. Ryan doesn’t normally take advantage of it, usually just goes straight to the locker room and the showers, but this time he finds Jack and gently bumps his hip into Jack’s side. “The goals are gonna come, you know?”

“Are they?” Jack stares down at the ice, slowly toe dragging a puck back and forth. “It’s just frustrating. I don’t know why I can’t bury it.”

“Lemme guess, this is the first time you’ve gone on a big cold streak.”

“Not the _first_ time,” Jack insists, and then pauses, mouth twisting as he thinks. “But it’s been a long time. That’s why I’m going to be drafted first, you know? Because I score a lot, and consistently. That’s what I do. That’s what they’re going to pay me to do, and yet…”

“Jack.” Ryan nudges him again, playfully. “You think Patty has never gone through a cold streak? Or Crosby, or Ovechkin? It happens to everyone in the NHL. You’re not playing against kids anymore. So yeah, they pay you to score, but they also pay you to keep doing the right things if you’re _not_ scoring. Because they know the scoring will come back. It always does. And trust me, it will here too.”

“Yeah.” Jack glances up, a small smile threatening. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, definitely right. But that doesn’t mean it’s not _frustrating.”_

“You want to get out your frustrations? C’mon, let’s play a game.”

Ryan deliberately chooses something he know Jack will win at, a keepaway type game. Jack’s eyes light up as he quick turns and twists and dances away from Ryan’s stick, successfully keeping the puck away with his superior speed and maneuverability. Ryan lets it go for a couple minutes before abandoning the stick check and simply grabbing Jack in a bear hug, giving a few soft and playful punches on his shoulder and helmet.

Jack shrieks with laughter. “Penalty!” he squawks. “Penalty, fighting, that’s not fair!”

“Life ain’t fair, kid,” Ryan says, grabbing the bars of his cage and gently shaking it so his whole head bounces. He lets Jack go and they both laugh, out of breath.

“Hey thanks,” Jack finally says, after huffing out a few long breaths. “That made me feel better.”

“Yeah, not a problem. I meant what I said.”

“Thanks,” Jack says again, and glides over for a hug, arms going around Ryan’s waist. It’s not just a bro-hug, it’s something a little more intimate, and Ryan glances over the top of Jack’s helmet to see Quinn - Jack’s brother - staring at them.

Well. _Fuck._

~~~~~

Jack’s birthday is the next day, and Ryan almost, _almost_ turns down the invite to go to the bar. But everyone is going, even a lot of guys from other teams - any excuse for a party, Ryan supposes - and his absence would be noted. He’ll go for a short while, he figures, and there will be so many guys there that he won’t even get close to Jack. No worries, no problems.

Dylan Larkin is already sloppy when Ryan gets to the bar. “I had to start early,” he slurs at Ryan. “Because I gotta leave early. Z’s coming tonight! _God,_ I love him, you know?”

‘Z’ is Zach Werenski, a late addition to the team USA roster, and Ryan gently pats Dylan on the shoulder. “I think everyone knows you love him, Dyl. Shit, I think the _fans_ know you love him.”

“We’re gonna get married,” he insists. “Like not right now. But when his contract is up he’s coming to Detroit and we’re gonna fuckin’ get married.”

“That’s nice,” Ryan says, but then he has an idea, and grabs Dylan before he can wander away. “You said you have to leave early? I mean, bud, you’re a little drunk. Why don’t you let me escort you.”

“Mmkay,” Dylan says cheerfully before he heads off. Perfect, Ryan thinks, a ready-made excuse to get the hell out of here early.

Ryan can see Jack with a bunch of team Canada boys, tall lanky kids that he thinks are just his type - Dubois, Murray, Strome - and breathes a sigh of relief. With any luck, he’ll take any of them home and get his birthday sex from someone a little more appropriate. Jack doesn’t seem to look his way, and he gets through two beers and actually has a bit of fun before he looks up and there’s a Hughes in his face.

Not Jack, though. Quinn.

Quinn offers what Ryan thinks is supposed to be a smile, but is really more of a grimace, and he holds out a beer. “Thanks,” Ryan says slowly, cautiously, taking the gift. “What’s the occasion?”

“Jack,” Quinn says simply. “I just want to tell you, I’m used to it.”

“Huh?”

“Him being like...this,” Quinn says helplessly, gesturing towards Jack. He turns to look at Jack, they both do, and he’s on the tiny floor, dancing his heart out to some terrible Eurobeat with Tyson Jost. He’s awful, but he clearly doesn’t care, his smile wild and carefree as it looks like he’s having the time of his life. “The thing is, when Jack sees something he wants, he goes after it with a single minded purpose. I guess that’s what makes him so good at hockey, right? He doesn’t stop. He won’t stop. But in situations like this…”

Quinn trails off, so Ryan frowns. “Situations like _what?”_

Instead of answering the question, Quinn shakes his head. “I’m not saying you have to do anything,” he says. “But just be aware if you _don’t_ give him what he wants, he won’t let up. He won’t stop, so be prepared. And if you do decide to uh, give him what he wants. Look, I won’t be pissed. Just don’t give me any details, eh?”

Ryan blinks once, twice, at Quinn. Is Quinn giving him permission to...fuck his baby brother? “Uh. I mean, do you think it’s a good idea?”

“When are Jack’s ideas ever good?” Quinn shrugs. “But it’s worked out for him pretty well so far. Quite frankly you’re a better option than a lot of these guys here. I know you’ll do right by him.” He wrinkles his nose. “Like I said though, no details. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try and get into PLD’s pants.”

“Oh, uh, good luck,” Ryan says, watching him walk away.

He slumps back down to one of the dingy little booths, his head spinning. He can’t believe that just happened - confirming that Jack wants him, _him_ , some ugly old man. Why? He can’t figure it out for the life of him. “Hey,” Dylan says, right in his ear, startling him out of his reverie.

“Jesus fuckin’ - goddamn, Larks. What?”

“Bout ten minutes, I’ll be ready to go.” He seems a little more sober now, although definitely still drunk. “Let me say for the record I don’t need a chaperone, but these Slovak streets turn me around when I’m sober, so I guess it would be nice if you came.”

“Got it. I’ll be ready when you are.”

Dylan nods, moving off, and Ryan tips up his beer to chug it down a little - waste not, want not, he figures - and nearly chokes on it as someone’s hand slides halfway up his thigh. “What - “ he splutters, a little foam leaking out of his mouth, setting his beer back on the table.

“Hi,” Jack purrs, eyes glassy with all the alcohol he’s been fed tonight. “Aren’t you going to wish me a happy birthday?”

“Happy birthday, Jack,” Ryan says, breath going a little shallow as Jack’s hand moves up a little further.

“Did you get me a present?”

“Sorry, man.”

Jack pouts prettily, flushed red from neck to forehead. “That’s okay,” he says. “I know what you can get me.”

“Jack - “ Ryan gently plucks his hand off his thigh, causing him to stumble a little, right into Ryan. “That’s a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“Well for starters, you know I’m 34? I’m _old.”_

“Old.” Jack scoffs, stepping a little closer now, close enough that Ryan can smell the alcohol on his breath. “You’re not old. 70 is like, old. You’re barely in your 30s. And I’m 18, so there’s nothing stopping us.”

“But why?” Ryan still has Jack’s wrist circled in his hand, he realizes. It’s warm and he can just barely feel Jack’s pulse fluttering there, and he _should_ let go, but he doesn’t. “What the hell do you see in me? I’m no catch.”

“Ain’t my fault nobody else can see what I see.” Jack leans in, voice soft so nobody else can hear. “I want you to hold me down and take me apart. See, lots of guys can do that, but I bet you can put me back together again after you’re done with me. And that’s not something you see every day.”

Ryan takes a sip of his beer because his mouth is so, so dry. “Pretty sure I saw Drai flirting with you earlier. You should - “

“Leon’s pretty,” Jack interrupts. “Oh yeah, very pretty to look at. But that doesn’t matter much when my face is buried in the pillow, does it?”

“Fuck,” Ryan huffs, squeezing Jack’s wrist. “Jesus, Jack. I just...I don’t know.”

“C’mon, Ry. It’s my birthday, but I wanna give _you_ a present to unwrap. When does that ever happen?” Jack’s mouth brushes his ear, causing Ryan to twitch. “I’ll be so good for you,” he whispers.

 _“Jack,”_ he growls, and he kind of likes the way Jack’s name sounds in his mouth. “Just tell me you’ve done this before.”

Jack giggles. “I’m not a virgin. You don’t have to worry about that, sir.”

 _Sir_. Ryan’s not sure how to feel about that. Nobody’s ever called him that before, but it stirs a little warmth of interest in his stomach. “Oh, we’re playing that game? Look, just...just don’t call me _Daddy,_ okay.”

“Oh don’t worry, Ry,” Jack says. “You only get one of those for free. You want me to call you ‘sir’ again, you gotta _earn_ it. I - “

“Um,” a voice comes from behind Jack, and it’s Dylan, eyes narrowed in suspicion at the two of them. “Suts. You about ready?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ryan says, looking up at Jack, who is starting to frown. “Jack, I gotta go bring Larks to meet Z’s train. Don’t - don’t give me that look, you’re drunk as hell anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jack’s frown clears up. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll be sober. And we can - “

“Right,” Ryan cuts him off, because Dylan’s listening in and he really, really doesn’t want it to get around that he’s going to be fucking Jack. “Tomorrow.”

Jack surges forward, giving him a big sloppy hug, then doing the same for Dylan. “Bye!” he says. “Thanks for coming to my birthday!” Then he skips - _skips_ \- off into the crowd.

Dylan watches him go, then raises an eyebrow at Ryan. “What was that about?”

“Nothing. Don’t you wanna go see your boy?”

“Zach!” Dylan’s expression goes goofy. “Oh man, I _love_ him. Have I ever told you that?”

He has to endure twenty more minutes of Dylan explaining in excruciating detail about his love affair with Werenski, and the way they greet each other is downright gross, but at least it gets the heat off Ryan. He heads back to his hotel room and turns Jack’s words over in his head.

Tomorrow. _Tomorrow_ they’ll both be sober, and - 

Jesus, he won’t even have alcohol to blame for this decision.

Ryan gets back to his empty room and jerks off, quick and fast, thinking about Jack’s wrist in his hand, the way his fingers fit perfectly around, the things he’s going to make Jack do tomorrow.

~~~~~

Ryan resolves he’s going to keep his head down and work _hard_ at practice the next day, but then Jack hits the ice with his brand new visor, tossing his head back, _flaunting_ it. “Look at me! No more cage!” he yells, and is met with a whole host of chirping and laughter.

“Now we can finally see your face without those bars,” Kreider teases. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Yeah, now we can finally do _this,”_ Quinn says, shoving his glove into Jack’s face while he groans and tries to wiggle away.

Jack catches Ryan during the first water break. “Yo, we still on for tonight?” he asks, tone light and airy, like he’s inquiring about the weather instead of getting fucked. He glances up at Ryan and without the cage, Ryan can see his full long lashes, batting at him.

He’s sort of surprised that Jack is still into him without the influence of alcohol, but he shrugs his shoulders. “If you think you can handle it,” he says, teasing.

Jack’s expression goes sharp, all devil-may-care attitude fleeing in an instant. “You’ll see,” he promises. “9p tonight, sharp, I’ll be at your door.”

He skates away before Ryan can respond, and then the defensemen are getting called to the whiteboard so the coaches can explain a drill. Only after they’re done talking does Ryan realize he hasn’t heard a goddamn thing of what they said, and he’s expected to go first.

~~~~~

He endures some playful teasing from Clayton at asking _again_ for the room to be vacated, but Keller doesn’t seem to mind. “Jack and Hanny haven’t got sick of me yet, luckily,” he says. “Although I was thinking maybe I should ask Dyls and Z if they want some company. You know, after they’ve had a few days to themselves.”

Ryan snorts. “You like couples, Kels?”

Clayton offers a lopsided grin on his way out the door. “Two is better than one, I always say.” And then he’s gone, and the room feels big and alone. Ryan turns a critical eye to his bed - this tiny thing is where he’s going to fuck Jack - so he does his best to make the bed, fluff the pillows, and then take another shower, scrubbing down as best he can.

Then he waits, alternately thinking about how he really shouldn’t be taking advantage of Jack and also how much he wants to see Jack’s smirky little mouth wrapped around his dick and what he’s going to sound like crying out Ryan’s name.

The knock comes at 9:04. Fashionably late, like all these youths are, Ryan thinks, sparing a quick glance in the mirror as he heads towards the door. He’s in a nice polo, and khaki shorts, because he figures it’s nice to at least look presentable for the guy you’re going to bang, even if the clothes are quickly discarded.

“Look at you,” Jack says as Ryan opens the door, eyeing him up and down. “You dress up all for me?”

Jack’s wearing a team hoodie and joggers, looking the picture of casualness as he strolls into the room. “I thought you said 9 sharp,” Ryan says.

“I did, sorry.” Jack turns over his shoulder to smirk. “You gonna punish me for it or what?”

“That what you want?”

“What I want is for you to come over here and kiss me.” Jack crooks a finger at him, and indicates the bed as Ryan comes near. “Sit,” he says, and Ryan suddenly gets the feeling that regardless of Jack’s pleading to ‘take him apart,’ regardless of the fact that he called Ryan ‘sir,’ there’s exactly one person in charge here and it ain’t Ryan. But he obeys, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring as Jack very deliberately lifts up and onto Ryan’s lap, one leg on either side of his hips.

“Kiss me,” he demands again, and Ryan - after a brief hesitation - cups his jaw and does so.

Jack’s mouth is soft and warm, and he tastes like something sweet, like bubblegum or Gatorade or candy. He’s the one that dips his tongue into Ryan’s mouth first, bold with what he wants, and when he shifts in Ryan’s lap, Ryan can feel how hard he is, Jack’s dick pressed against his stomach. 18 and ready to pop off at the first kiss; Ryan remembers those days.

“Touch me,” Jack murmurs against his mouth as they make out. “Undress me.”

“Maybe I should make you say please,” Ryan says, nipping at Jack’s lower lip.

Jack chuckles, a low throaty thing. “I’m not close to begging yet,” he says. “I told you, you’re gonna have to earn that.”

“Well then.” Ryan wraps his arms around Jack’s torso, swings him down on the bed and lands on top of Jack, being careful not to press his full weight down. Jack is not exactly skinny, but lean in the way that all teenagers are, gangly and not fully grown into his limbs yet. Ryan skims his fingers up Jack’s sides, pushes his shirt up and over his head and pinches one of Jack’s nipples at his triumphant grin. “Don’t,” he warns. “I took your shirt off because I wanted to, not because you asked.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jack says, and it looks like he’s going to say something else, so Ryan dips his head and sucks at the nipple he just pinched. It steals the words right out of Jack’s mouth, and he gasps, arching up. “Oh - _oh,”_ he says. “That’s, uh, fuck.”

“Nobody ever do this for you, Jack?” he asks, blowing cold air on the nipple, watching it stiffen, Jack quivering under the touch.

“More,” he demands instead of answering, but Ryan indulges, moving over to the other nipple to give it the same treatment. Not a lot of men like their nipples played with, but the ones that do, in Ryan’s experience, _really_ like it. Jack seems to fall in that camp, arching into Ryan’s mouth, breath kicking up.

Or maybe...maybe he’s just this responsive to everything. Ryan’s excited to find out.

“You know what might be nice,” Ryan says conversationally, gently biting a path down to Jack’s soft stomach. “I just leave your pants on, and drive you crazy, and you just come right in those nice joggers. And then you have to walk back down the hall all dirty. You have to go back to your room, look your brother in the eye, with come all down your thigh.”

“No,” Jack moans. “I don’t even know where the laundry is here. No, don’t wanna.”

“Well, you know what to say then,” Ryan says, settling his palm over the tent in Jack’s pants and rubbing.

“You’re a dick, fuck you,” Jack says, with no malice at all behind it, bucking up into Ryan’s touch. “Okay, okay. _Please.”_

“Please what?”

“Please...sir.”

Ryan thinks briefly about not stopping; Jack is red all over, from his chest on up, his hair fluffy and wild, and he looks so tempting. More than anything, Ryan wants to see what he looks like when he comes. “I don’t want to come til I’m on your dick,” Jack pleads softly, and okay, that does it. Ryan yanks his hand away and helps Jack push his pants down and off, practically throwing them across the room. Then he clambors off the bed, fiddling with his own pants.

“That was fast,” Ryan smirks at him. “What happened to all that bravado at your birthday party? That I gotta _earn_ your begging. Five minutes in and here you are.”

“Here I am,” Jack says, smiling easily and palming his hard cock. “You won.”

Ryan should have known Jack wasn’t going to give up so fast, but Jack’s on his elbows watching him appreciatively while he undresses, and it’s kind of an ego boost. He gets down his shorts and briefs, and yanks his polo over his head - 

Jack’s gone when his face emerges from the fabric. The bed is rumpled but empty, and Ryan frowns. “J - “

His mouth barely forms the _J_ of _Jack_ before he’s tackled from behind, right onto the bed, Jack laughing breathlessly while sitting on his back. He’s still hard, and it presses insistently into Ryan’s side. “You know you have 40 pounds on me, right?” Jack says, skittering back and out of the way while Ryan tries to reverse them.

It’s ineffectual. Jack is tiny, but he’s _fast,_ and Ryan feels bad for his neighbors as they play wrestle, because the bed is creaking and they’re banging into the walls and floor. Every time he thinks he has Jack pinned, he manages to wriggle out, goading him mercilessly. Finally, Ryan catches him, slams him up against the wall a little harder than he meant to, but Jack just grins wildly at him, chest heaving, out of breath. Somehow, through it all he’s _still_ hard, maybe even harder now than when they started, and Ryan has to admit some grudging respect. He might be 18, but he seems to know what he’s into.

“You caught me,” Jack pants. “What are you gonna do to me now?”

“I should kick you out for being a little shit,” Ryan says, sucking in air. “Most guys don’t come to your room and then kick and squirm when you try to get them in your bed.”

“Most guys aren’t me,” Jack laughs. “I told you. You gotta _earn_ it.”

“So have I?”

Jack licks his lips, and for the first time Ryan notices how plush they are, big and pink. “Yeah,” he says. “No more fighting, I promise. You win, for real this time. I just want you to bend me over your knee and finger me open.”

“Say it.”

Jack sighs softly, biting at one of those soft lips. “Please, sir,” he says. “I’m sorry for fighting earlier.”

Ryan brought lube - he was pretty sure he _wasn’t_ going to get laid here, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to be prepared - so thank god for that. It’s his favorite, slippery and water-based, perfect for toys too. He spares a moment to think about how Jack would look split open on a plug, seated in there all day, just waiting for Ryan to come and pull it out and replace it with his dick.

Jack’s ass is kind of perfect. Perky and round, no scars, no sagging, no cellulite, almost porn star-esque with how obscene it is, especially with him on his knees and staring between his legs with a put-upon pout. “Don’t make me beg more, Ry,” he says. “It’s not in my nature.”

“Maybe it will be,” Ryan says, “after I get through with you.”

That sends a juttery exhale out of Jack’s mouth, and he thrusts his ass a little closer to Ryan. “Please, Ry.”

Fingering a guy open has always been sort of perfunctory for Ryan, his least favorite part of the whole thing, the reason why he sticks more to women if given a chance. Self-lubrication is a hell of a thing, and if Jack were a woman, he’d already be inside. That said, there’s something intriguing about this process with Jack he’s never really noticed before: the way Ryan’s fingers disappear inside him, Jack opening up so sweet; the soft little whimpers dropping out of Jack’s mouth; the way Jack’s dick twitches and jumps at every new twist of Ryan’s wrist. He thinks maybe he could do this all day, and that’s a good thing, because Jack needs more lube and attention than Ryan thinks he’s ever given anyone ever.

“God, you’re so _tight,”_ Ryan murmurs softly. “Relax for me. Open up.”

“Trying,” Jack pants, face buried in the bedspread. “Fuck it feels good. It’s just - fuck, so new.”

“New?” Ryan’s hand stills, two fingers pressed deep inside. “I thought you’d done this before.”

Jack makes a bitten-off noise. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t a virgin,” he says, after a long moment. “Just, uh. I haven’t…um, bottomed.”

 _Shit_ , that means he’s going to be Jack’s first. Oh god, that’s a lot, a lot of pressure. “Jack - “

“Please don’t stop,” Jack pleads. “Don’t you dare fucking stop. I don’t know what I’d do if you stopped. Please, I’m sorry, I know you’ll be so good for me, Ry. Please, I want it to be you. Take me first.”

Ryan nearly chokes on the words. _Take me first_. The heat that was already pooling in his belly catches fire, turns molten. “If you ever want me to stop - “

“Never,” Jack says. “Ryan, _please.”_

By the time he gets three fingers into Jack, he’s a mess, babbling soft nonsense into the comforter. His dick is leaking a steady stream of pre-come, and Ryan can see him trembling, the muscles in his legs shaking. He’s about as ready as he’ll ever be, and he tells Jack so. “Hold me down,” Jack asks, and Ryan really needs to get over this false image of _blushing virgin,_ because Jack isn’t like that at all. Despite this being his first time, he knows exactly what he wants, so Ryan presses his hand into the back of Jack’s neck and shoves his face into the bedspread while he lines himself up. “C’mon,” Jack growls, voice muffled in the sheets.

He’s pretty sure Jack is the tightest, sweetest thing he’s ever felt, and he can hear himself cursing softly as he pushes inside, in and in and in until Jack’s impaled on it, hips bumping against his ass. The urge to take, to pound into him until he screams and wakes up the whole floor, is so intense that Ryan has to take a moment and just breathe. “Pull my hair,” Jack commands, tilting his head back. “I keep it long for a reason.”

“God, you’re pushy,” Ryan growls.

“So shut me up,” Jack says, and Ryan can hear rather than see the smirk, so he does just as Jack asks, threading his fingers through Jack’s hair and _pulling_ , arching his back as he yanks Jack’s face skyward.

Jack’s breathing goes ragged at the first thrust, turns into a soft whimper at the second, a sweet high-pitched whine at the third, and at the fourth he’s coming, completely untouched, shooting all over his belly. Ryan can feel him shake through his orgasm, and his name is on Jack’s lips and he’s squeezing tight all around Ryan’s dick and _god,_ he feels like he could come too, just like that. “Do I get my turn now?” Ryan asks, because some guys, the second they come, everything gets too sensitive and he has to pull out. He hopes that’s not the case here. “Do I get what’s mine?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and he sounds fucked-out and a little slurred, like he’s drunk. “God, yeah. More.”

Jack _is_ sensitive, shivering through Ryan’s thrusts, dropping his head back to the comforter when Ryan lets go of his hair. He snakes a hand down to where he’s splitting Jack wide open, marveling at the feel of it, at the thrill of the conquest. Before he can stop himself he slips the tips of two of his fingers into Jack’s hole, right alongside his dick, and Jack shouts and bucks. At first Ryan thinks it’s a protest, but no - Jack wants _more._

“Fuck, please,” Jack whines. “Touch me, Ry.”

He keeps his thumb pressed against Jack’s rim while he thrusts, the other hand circling Jack’s dick, and he’s half hard again, somehow, even though he just came. “Greedy,” he clicks his tongue. “You want me to get you off _again_ and I haven’t even come once?”

“Hell yeah,” Jack says, unrepentant, and when he glances over his shoulder at Ryan he’s a _mess._ His eyes are red-rimmed like he’s been crying a little, sweet mouth all red and bitten up, his hair sticking up everywhere from where Ryan yanked it earlier. “I want on my back,” he says. “I wanna see you.”

“I thought you wanted your face in the sheets.”

“Changed my mind,” Jack says. “Wanna watch you when you come inside me.”

“You want that?” Ryan asks, allowing Jack to press forward and off of him, flipping over onto his back, cock laying firm against his stomach where there’s already a trail of drying come clear up to his nipples.

“I just said I did,” Jack says, opening his legs again. “Next time you can come on my face. But first time, I want it in my ass.”

 _Next time._ Ryan can’t spend too much time thinking about that or he’s pretty sure his brain is going to melt, so instead he shoves Jack’s legs up, bends him in half. Jack goes easily, flexible and limber, and his face crumbles in pleasure when Ryan pushes back inside.

Ryan thinks he could watch Jack all day, the faces he makes when he gets fucked, so expressive, looking like he can barely stand it. “Yeah, please,” he whimpers, and the slow steady build is so exquisite with the way Jack moans and writhes on his dick, like it’s the best thing in the world. “Please,” he says again, and Ryan grips the tender skin at Jack’s thighs, bites half-moon crescents there with his fingernails as he comes, pumps Jack full.

“You’re so sweet,” Ryan gasps, trailing his fingers up Jack’s chest, through the drying come and the slide of sweat. “You know that?”

“Sweet enough to touch me?” Jack says, and he’s fully hard again, cock curving up against his belly, smearing wet streaks there.

“I’ll do better,” Ryan promises, gently pulling out. Jack shuts his eyes and grimaces, and Ryan strokes his thighs in apology, pushing himself down the bed.

“What - “ Jack starts, but then Ryan dips his head and swallows him down. Ryan’s got a big mouth, he knows that, and well - it’s useful for a few things. One thing in particular, in this case, and Jack keens a noise that Ryan’s never heard before, enough that he wonders if maybe this is Jack’s first blowjob, too. Or probably it’s just been with kids his age, sloppy and shallow, not like how Ryan is working him over now. Blindly, he slips his hand back between Jack’s thighs and pushes, two fingers slipping in easy now between all the lube and his come.

Jack is making these obscene, wanton noises, and when Ryan hooks his fingers up and pushes, he knows that’ll be it. Jack spills into his mouth, but he’s expecting it, and he swallows it all.

They lay there panting together for a long moment, until Jack yanks at his shoulders, settling his face in Ryan’s shoulder and curling around him. Oh - well, Jack’s a cuddler. He’s not sure why he’s surprised, and he pets down Jack’s back, letting the kid melt into him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, sounding half-asleep. “Thanks, Ry. I meant it, y’know.”

“Meant what?”

“Next time.” Jack smiles against his shoulder; Ryan can feel his lips turn up. “Next time I want you to come on my face. We have a game tomorrow, but - the next day. 9p, sharp.”

Ryan swallows away the lump in his throat. “9p sharp,” he agrees softly, but Jack’s already asleep, snoring away.

~~~~~

They play Great Britain the next day, and Jack shows up cheery and fresh-faced. Ryan aches, even though he wasn’t even the one that bottomed, but his thighs and back hurt, and he definitely tweaked his shoulder while they were play wrestling. Still, he thinks, as he eyes Jack up, not missing the tiny red spot he definitely bit into Jack’s shoulder last night, it was probably worth it.

Right after warm ups, as they’re milling around the locker room waiting, Jack shows up at his locker with another candy bar. Kavenky, this one’s called, some kind of chocolate wafer. “Here,” Jack says, breaking off a small piece. “I know you want just a taste.”

Ryan snags the entire rest of the bar out of Jack’s hands, takes a big bite, hands it back with a grin. “Maybe I’ve decided I want more,” he says.

Jack’s laughter is long and loud and causes half the locker room to stare, but Ryan can’t bring himself to care any more.


End file.
